and other lavishly decorated architectural features made it stand out, even amongst a whole shoreline of mansions. It seemed rather ironic that Vivian had made his fabulous fortune from parking lots. From the most practical of properties to the sublime, Maggie thought.
He’d taken enormous pride in what he’d privately called the Prescott Palace, using it as it should be used for splendid charity balls and fabulous fund-raising soirees. She mused over the marvellous memories Vivian had given her. He’d loved showing off his home, loved the pleasure it gave to others simply by coming here, enjoying the wonders of great wealth.
But nothing went on forever.
Nothing ever really stayed the same.
Maggie checked the time on her watch. The last bit of leeway for her was running out. She looked up at the cloudless blue sky, then down at the sparkles of sunshine on the water.
If you’re out there somewhere, Vivian, and you really want this plan to work you’d better start waving your magic wand right now, because fairytales just don’t happen without it. Okay?
The only reply was the cry of gulls and the sounds of the city.
Maggie took a deep breath and turned to go.
The welcome mat was out for Beau Prescott.
CHAPTER THREE
THE huge black wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to Rosecliff were wide open. Wallace slowly turned the Rolls-Royce into the white-gravelled driveway, giving Beau plenty of time to get an eyeful of his home and its surrounds. As always, everything looked meticulously cared for; the lawns manicured, the rose gardens in healthy bloom, the two wings of the massive H-shaped mansion reaching out to welcome him.
It was nine o’clock and from the row of cars in the parking area for the daily staff, Beau realised nothing had been changed since his grandfather’s death. The life here was flowing on as usual, waiting for him to come and make decisions. It made him doubly conscious of the responsibilities he had inherited.
Many people were employed on this estate, not only those who most concerned him. He suddenly saw the wisdom of the one-year clause in his grandfather’s will. It would probably take that long to sort out what should be done with the place. Beau couldn’t see himself adopting the lavish lifestyle enjoyed by his grandfather, yet it would be a shame to see Rosecliff become less than it was under some other ownership.
Wallace drove around to the east wing which housed the entrance vestibule. He stopped the car directly in front of the great double doors, distinguished from all the other doors by a frame of elaborate wrought-iron grillwork. They were being opened, with meticulous timing, by Sedgewick.
Sure the insidious Nanny Stowe would be standing right behind the butler, Beau didn’t wait for Wallace to do his ceremonial chauffeur stuff. He let himself out of the Rolls and strode straight for the meeting which had become paramount in his mind.
To his somewhat bewildered frustration, it didn’t happen.
She wasn’t there.
Sedgewick, as imposing as ever, his big dark eyes somehow managing to look both doleful and delighted, took his hand in both of his in a fulsome greeting. “Welcome home, sir. Welcome home.”
“Sorry not to have been here before, Sedgewick,” Beau said with feeling, knowing how devastating it must have been for the old butler to lose the master he’d loved and been so proud of serving.
Then Mrs. Featherfield, dabbing the comers of her eyes with her trademark lace handkerchief, her well-cushioned bosom heaving in a rush of emotion. “Thank heaven you’re here at last, Master Beau. It’s a sad, sad time, but it lifts our hearts to see you home again.”
“Dear Feathers...” His boyhood name for her slipped out as he gave her a comforting hug. “I truly believed my grandfather would live to a hundred. I wouldn’t have been gone so long if...”
“I know, dear.” She patted him on the back and eased out of his embrace to address him earnestly. “But you mustn’t fret. As Mr. Vivian would say, yesterday’s gone, and we have to make the most of today because tomorrow’s just around the comer and time does slip by on us.”
He had to smile. “I remember.”
“And I’m sure Nanny Stowe will fill you in on...”
“Ah, yes! Nanny Stowe.” Beau pounced. “Wallace has been telling me about our new addition to the household. Where is she?”
Sedgewick cleared his throat. “A lady of deep sensitivity, Master Beau. Since Mrs. Featherfield and I have considerable longevity of service, Nanny Stowe wanted to give us a few minutes alone with you. However...” He gestured towards the stairhall. “...I expect she will be coming down any moment now.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Featherfield got all fluttery, urging Beau forward, leading the way under the lofty Palladian arch to where the staircase rose in elegant curves to the second-floor hall. “Nanny Stowe is so looking forward to meeting you.”
No more than he was, Beau thought darkly.
As he stepped into the majestic stairhall, his gaze automatically travelled up the flight of broad steps that gradually narrowed to the first landing. A woman stood poised there, framed by the tall, arched balcony window, the light beaming in behind her seeming to set her hair aflame; glorious red-gold hair that sprang alive from her face, fanning out like a fiery halo with long glittering streamers which rippled down past her shoulders.
Beau was so stunned by this vision, it took him several moments to recollect himself enough to register more than the fabulous hair. She had skin so white it looked translucent, like the most delicate porcelain. Her face was strikingly beautiful, every feature finely balanced to please. Her neck looked almost unnaturally long, yet it, too, seemed utterly right, purposefully proportioned to hold such a face, as well as being the perfect foil for the glorious wealth of her hair.
She moved, jolting his gaze down to her feet to check he wasn’t imagining what he was seeing; feet encased in black shiny shoes with a gold chain across each instep; delicately shaped ankles leading to legs in sheer black stockings; legs that went on forever, mesmerising in their long, sleek femininity.
Beau knew there were sixteen stairs from the landing to the floor and she’d come down half of them before his eyes reached the short skirt of her black dress. A gold chain curved from hipbone to hipbone, dangling over her stomach, just above the apex of her thighs.
The air Beau was breathing started to fizz. Or maybe he wasn’t breathing at all and suffering from lack of oxygen. His chest felt seized up and his heart was drumming like a bongo on carnival night.
He dragged his gaze up past an impossibly small waist. A wild phrase leapt into his dazed brain...breasts like pomegranites...lush and ripe and delectable. Then he knew he was getting light-headed because his blood was all rushing down to his groin and very shortly he was going to be in big trouble.
Get back to the pure loveliness of her face, some shred of sanity shrieked. As his thigh muscles tightened to contain the hot prickling of desire, he watched the fascinating rise of a flush creep up the pearly white skin of her throat and its subsequent spread to her exotically slanted cheekbones. Then he was looking into her eyes, eyes as blue as the waters of the Caribbean, dazzling in their blueness.
“Nanny
